


Unbroken Reserve

by Owl_by_Night



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 15:12:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13573218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_by_Night/pseuds/Owl_by_Night
Summary: Written for a kinkmeme prompt, which asked for Grant always being completely silent during sex and someone doing their best to get him to break that silence.  Jonathan volunteered to be that person.  Set during his time in the peninsula. Nothing but smut and fluff.





	Unbroken Reserve

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt can be found here: https://jsmn-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1613.html?thread=1537357#cmt1537357

When Jonathan had first gone to his knees for Major Grant, he had worried that he was somehow failing to live up to Grant's exacting standards. He had always prided himself on being able to read a partner in bed: to know how to get the best reactions from them and learn, from the sighs and noises they made, how best to please them. He delighted in being a generous lover in that way. Their enjoyment was his reward. Yet Major Grant could almost be mistaken for not enjoying himself at all. He had stood with barely a tremble in his thighs (Merlin had rested his hands there, ostensibly for balance but in reality to enjoy the feeling of hard muscle beneath his fingers) and in utter silence Grant had accepted any pleasure or torment that Merlin gave to him. No lick of the tongue against sensitive flesh, or even Merlin taking as much of him into his mouth as he could and suckling at him, provoked the slightest moan or sigh. 

If Grant had not spilled down his throat with a gratifying and apparently involuntary jerk of his hips, and his fingers curled tight into Jonathan's hair, Jonathan might have assumed that he had not cared for the experience at all. When Grant returned the favour with a strong hand wrapped around Jonathan's prick, he felt not only the relief of being touched but also of knowing that if he had disappointed in any way, he had been forgiven for it. He was certainly surprised when Grant had suggested they repeat the experience in the future, when time and Wellington's orders allowed it.  
They fell into a comfortable pattern after a time, though Grant was always silent. Eventually Merlin ventured to ask if this was because he was not enjoying himself as much as he could, if there was something he had failed to do that might bring him pleasure. Grant laughed at him, although it was not at all unkind. 

"No Merlin," he had said, "it is only my way. A necessity if you like, given where we are." 

"You mean you are always silent?"

"Yes, as you are entirely too loud." 

Merlin bristled at the suggestion, even though he knew that Grant had been at some pains to hush him at times for fear of thin canvas walls and curious men who might overhear. To distract him from his indignation, Grant then began to describe every act that had so far failed to provoke the slightest vocal reaction from him. It was a long and comprehensive list, and hearing it in that light, conversational tone from Grant led Merlin to a state of very pleasurable distraction until Grant offered to assist him, lest he spill in his breeches. This of course distracted him further, but he did not forget their conversation. 

Later, leaving Grant to enjoy the remainder of his night's rest, Jonathan realised that far from reassuring him, he was now thinking of Grant's silence as a challenge. Surely something could crack that reserve, that enforced self-control. He thought about it, tried several plans, but although it led to some very enjoyable encounters between them, he still did not succeed. 

Eventually, of course, the war came to an end and Merlin had not yet achieved his aim. Still, the victory put him in good spirits and Wellington went about looking entirely pleased with himself, talking of the wives and mistresses waiting at home. The men were shipped back to England and with them went Merlin and Grant. After a long, damp sea voyage, they arrived in windswept England, shrouded in rain, to await Wellington’s orders and permission to go home. 

Merlin's first thought on arriving was the necessity of finding rooms. The town was already crowded with common soldiers and officers alike, all seeking shelter out of the inclement weather and a mug of ale if it could be had. Grant was distractedly grateful when Merlin suggested that they find a room together. He was entirely preoccupied with seeing to the disembarking of men and meetings with Wellington but also smiled at Merlin in a way that suggested he would not be sorry for them to spend the night together when the work was done. So Merlin left him to it and went walking in search of lodgings. 

For a time it was a fruitless search and he was soon soaked to the skin from the rain, not helped by standing for a time, watching the sea and tasting the salt spray on his lips. It hardly seemed possible that this was England. The same English coast where he had stood to watch Mr Norrell make his sea beacons, where the sun had shone and he had breakfasted on hot rolls and marmalade without a care. It was the thought of rolls that persuaded him that if he could not seek a room, he must at least find sustenance and by lucky chance the inn he chose for his meal had one room left. 

He ate a hearty meal and bathed until he felt rid of the grime of the sea voyage, then sent a boy with a message to Grant to tell him where their room was. It raised no comment - hardly a bed in the town was not being shared for lack of space. It was also a room at the top of the house, well away from prying eyes and ears, particularly with a storm brewing outside. When darkness fell, another boy came seeking him to say that Grant was dining with the other officers but would be along shortly. Merlin, with a plan slowly forming in his head, ate supper thoughtfully, ordered a hot bath for Grant and settled down to wait. 

~

Grant returned some time after dark. His hair was wilder than usual, even more so than the fashion of the day dictated, being less a la Brutus and more reminiscent of a small boy who had clambered backward through a hedge. His heavy cloak was soaked through with rain and sea water and his uniform jacket was damp beneath it. The phrase ‘tempest tossed’ came into Merlin’s mind when he looked at him. 

"It's turning to a proper gale out there,” Grant said as he entered. “Fortunate we made port this morning," 

"I was glad to be here in the warm," Merlin answered, rising from his chair by the fire to help Grant off with the wet cloak. He handed it to the maid who had shown Grant upstairs and firmly closed the door behind her. 

"A hot bath," Grant said with heartfelt appreciation as the maid’s footsteps receded down the stairs. "Thank you Merlin, I hadn't expected that." 

"I thought you'd need it. How is his lordship?" He tugged off Grant's gloves for him and then moved to his belt as Grant began on the gilt buttons of his jacket, his fingers slow with cold. 

“In good humour,” Grant said, “he wants to see you tomorrow, I imagine to relieve you of service as the army’s magician. You know his Lordship; he wants everything done properly. Can’t have everyone running off home without due regard… there!” Grant released the final button from the damp wool of his coat and shrugged it off. Merlin, distracted, abandoned unsaid his comment on his Lordships humour and instead helped Grant off with his waistcoat. 

When Grant was finally stripped and settled into the steaming water, Merlin lit a few more candles on the mantelpiece above the blazing fire and poured a glass of wine. He handed it to Grant as he soaked. Outside, the rain was battering ever harder against the windows. 

"This is very luxurious," Grant said with a laugh, "rather different to the peninsula. I could get used to peace time living." 

Merlin smiled at his happiness and knelt beside the tub. Grant leant back and looked up at him, glass in hand. 

"I feel I had better wash quickly, with that look in your eye," said Grant. 

"I can help."

Grant reached up to tousle Merlin’s hair. “No, no, I’m more than capable of washing myself. Wait until I’ve got used to peace and then I expect I’ll be the most bone idle creature you could meet, saving De Lancey, but I do remember what one does with hot water and soap. Although it has been a while since we had the opportunity.”

Setting aside his glass, Grant washed himself with soldierly efficiency. While Merlin had been contemplating the joys of running his hands over that familiar body, he was for the moment content to watch. His plans were, after all, mostly concerned with what was to happen after the bath. 

When Grant finished and stood up from the bath, Merlin was prepared and stepped forward, wrapping a warmed towel about his shoulders and then kneeling to dry Grant's legs with every possible thoroughness. Grant watched him as he did so, seeming almost embarrassed by it. 

"You do not need to do this," he said, a faint colour rising in his cheeks.

"I want to."

Merlin knelt at his feet, looking up at that solid, sure body. Grant's chest was dusted with hairs, thickening over his stomach. Merlin pressed a kiss to his hip and leant against the warm skin there, barely an inch from Grant's prick. He could smell the salt scent of his arousal even above the clean smell of soap, doubtless from memories of the many other times when Merlin had knelt before him.  
Grant looked down at him, and tangled a hand into his hair again, tugging gently at his curls. 

"Merlin," he said, "don't you think it's time we went to bed?" 

“Not yet.” Ignoring the temptation of Grant’s prick, he pulled back and resumed his work with the towel, drying every inch of him with exaggerated care. He knelt up and held Grant’s hand to his mouth, kissing the back and then the palm, then the inside of his wrist. Alternating with towel and kisses he worked up to the crook of Grant’s neck. Grant fidgeted beneath the attention, laughing a little but letting him do as he liked. 

“Merlin,” he said, “what are you about?” 

“Taking care of you,” he said, and kissed him. Merlin had been waiting for the right moment to do so for such a time that it was a very hungry kiss, however much he had intended to keep it gentle to begin with. Grant clung to him more fiercely than he expected, turning his face up to the kiss and opening his mouth so willingly at the first touch of Merlin’s tongue. It was the sort of kiss that left them both a panting, having almost forgotten the need for breath. Pausing, half an inch apart, they looked at one another and had no remedy for the look that passed between them but kissing again and again, until Merlin felt himself trembling with desire. 

“Merlin…” Grant said, not needing to finish the thought.  
“Yes.” 

Merlin had already had the sheets of the bed turned down, wanting no interruptions once Grant returned. Grant sprawled on the clean sheets while Merlin stripped off his clothing with all possible haste. It was only Grant’s indrawn breath that halted him. 

"Look at you, Merlin," Grant said in a low voice. Their past encounters had not always given them the luxury of seeing one another naked. His eyes roved over Merlin's longer limbs and paler skin and it was Merlin’s turn to flush under the scrutiny. He had been very conscious at first that he was not a solider and did not show to advantage, but Grant had been utterly appreciative of him until he had forgotten to care. Now Grant stared openly, and Merlin remembered a little of that first awkwardness. 

“Come here,” Grant said, opening his arms to him. “I cannot look at you and not touch you.” 

Merlin went. Although the room was warmer now with the blazing fire, he folded himself around Grant and drew the covers over them. Grant’s skin was heated against his own. They kissed again, slow and heady kisses. Grant squirmed against him, legs tangled together. Merlin let his hands roam over Grant’s back, exploring the planes of muscle and the curves of his shoulders. He rolled them and Grant let his legs fall willingly apart so that Merlin was held between his thighs. They had rarely needed words to negotiate who was to give and who receive and Merlin groaned at the way Grant gripped him, urging him to thrust. 

It would have been all too easy to let his desire run away with him, to lose himself in the pleasure of deep kisses and the feel of Grant’s body twined with his own. Grant certainly seemed to have no objection, grasping both their pricks together in his hand and stroking Merlin encouragingly, thrusting up against him until the dizzying friction of it threatened to end them both in a far more rushed and breathless encounter than Merlin had planned. He pulled away a little, gasping, and nipped at Grant’s lip until he stopped and lay there waiting, his only movement the thumb he swept over the tip of Merlin’s prick, sending small shocks of pleasure through him at each touch. 

“I had other plans,” Merlin said, unable to keep his hips from jerking forward a little. 

“And what did you have in mind?” Grant looked up at him, brown eyes amused but warm. 

“Turn over and I’ll demonstrate.” 

Grant did not need to be told twice. He rolled himself efficiently over beneath Merlin and lay still, his head pillowed on his arms. Merlin’s prick now rested in the cleft of Grant’s arse and he groaned, pushing forward to leave wet salt on the skin there. 

Although Grant was strongly built and used to combat, he was also the smaller of the two of them. He lacked both Merlin's height and length of limb, and Merlin used it to full advantage, blanketing Grant with his whole body and letting his weight press him more firmly into the mattress. He wrapped his fingers around Grant's strong wrists and nuzzled against the short hair at the nape of his neck. Grant writhed beneath him, testing the restraint of it and Merlin felt a strange possessiveness, almost a sense of protectiveness.

He knelt up, determined to follow his original plan, and sat astride Grant. He let his hands trail along the other man’s arms and then sank them into the muscle of his shoulders, kneading at them. Grant made a small sound of surprise and asked what he was about. Merlin said nothing, only continued to work at tense muscle and strained sinews. He did not feel it was the moment to share that he had learnt the technique as a young man, when he had fallen from his horse outside a brothel and painted such a woeful picture that the whores had taken pity on him. From then on he had known how susceptible a man could become beneath two such working hands. 

It began with a soft sigh as Grant settled more comfortably into the mattress, as if he had decided to let Jonathan have his way. Then as his muscles relaxed he sighed again, an altogether softer sound. Merlin smiled to himself and kept to his work as the palms of his hands grew warm. He was rewarded with a soft ‘mmm’ of enjoyment. It was more than he had expected from Grant, but perhaps the man did not consider this to be a bed game, and so he was not bound by his usual silence. Merlin, with a focus he usually reserved for the most serious study of magic, began to work his way downwards to the tempting curve of Grant’s arse. 

Grant was not unaffected by this slow progress. Beneath his legs Merlin could feel the restless movement of Grant’s hips, grinding himself against the mattress as if in search of relief. When Merlin’s hands began to knead gently at the muscles of Grant’s thighs and buttocks, Grant turned his face to the pillow as if the sensation was too much. 

Never had Merlin taken such time over preparing a partner for a fucking. Although Grant was relaxed beneath his hands he was also gratifyingly eager. At the first touch of Merlin’s oil slicked fingers he pushed back, seeking more. In less private surroundings and with less time to spare, Merlin might have considered this part of the proceedings to be a mere distraction. Now he made every movement torturously slow, examining every response to every touch as thoroughly as he might consider the intricate construction of an unfamiliar spell. Grant writhed beneath him and it took the last of his self-control to keep that steady pace when all of his desire called for him to succumb to temptation and allow himself to sink into the slick, tight heat of Grant’s body. He paused, when he thought Grant might be on the point of begging, and settled his weight once more over him. 

“Merlin, please.”

Grant sounded breathless with strain rather than encouraging and Merlin halted, holding himself above the other man and moving no further, lest the next word be a request to stop. 

“I should…” Grant looked over his shoulder and his face was so nakedly vulnerable that Merlin felt the impact of it like a blow. “I should prefer to see your face.” 

“Of course.” Merlin found himself biting down on the endearment that threatens to follow the words. It was not their way. He pulled back to allow Grant to turn. When he had, Merlin gazed down at him in awed appreciation. Grant was very far gone in his desire, flushed pink with it and panting. His prick was achingly hard and Merlin found he could not resist this new temptation. He bent his head to suck, letting his tongue press against the most sensitive points. Grant grunted beneath him, the involuntary sound a man might make if he were struck by a heavy blow. It seemed appropriate that he should make such a harsh, almost military noise, drawn from him unwillingly and unconsciously. His hands twisted hard into the bedclothes. 

Merlin held him there, caught between fingers and mouth, as Grant bit hard at his lip. His breath came harshly and Merlin tasted the sharp rush of salt that warned him to pause. When he stopped, Grant’s eyes flew open and stared at him, wide and dark. “Merlin,” he said again, very softly. It was such a low and desperate tone that Merlin, his heart beating wildly, could do nothing but go to him as if drawn there. He kissed him thoroughly again and finally let himself slide into Grant’s body. Grant made no noise, but pressed his mouth desperately to Merlin’s hair, half to kiss and half to silence himself as Merlin began to fuck him in earnest. 

Grant made a sharp ‘uh’ noise as Merlin thrust harder, an exhale of breath that came closer to a moan. It sent a thrill down Merlin’s spine and he chased after it, desperate to hear the sound again. Grant, apparently lost to the point of carelessness, obliged. He pressed his hand to his mouth as if to suppress it and Merlin gently took the hand away and kissed him instead. Grant nipped at his lip and then turned and pressed his face to Merlin’s neck so that Merlin could feel the harsh panting of his breath and the quiet but unmistakeable sounds of pleasure. Soft they might be, wrung from him with each thrust, but to Merlin’s ears they were perfect. 

He reached for Grant’s prick and managed a stroke or two before unbalancing himself and falling forward. Grant bucked up to meet him and kissed him fiercely, pressing his own hand between their bodies to stroke himself. He was already on the edge of orgasm and Merlin felt him jerk upwards at the first touch of his hand. He sucked hard at the skin of Merlin’s neck and then fell back with a half sobbed noise of desperation. 

“Jonathan,” he said, very roughly. “Oh, Jon…” 

Never had he used that name before in bed, and never the abbreviation at all. In a heady mix of sensation, surprise and unexpected emotion at the sound of his own name in that broken voice, Jonathan found himself tumbling headlong into orgasm. It took him several moments before he could think of anything at all. 

He came back to himself to the sensation of Grant carding gentle fingers through his hair. He was embraced, limbs entwined, and with a feeling of warmth glowing so fiercely in his chest he half expected it to be a visible form of magic. 

“Well,” Grant murmured into his ear, “you have certainly excelled yourself.” 

“I had a very good cause.” Jonathan pressed himself closer, tucking his face against Grant’s chest. Outside the wind howled ever louder and the rain drove hard against the shuttered window. It made him glad of the shared warmth and the crackling fire. Later they would need to add more fuel to burn overnight, don nightshirts, and perhaps finish the wine, but for the moment he had no desire to move more than an inch or two away from Grant. 

“I appreciate the effort you have gone to.” Although Jonathan cannot see Grant’s face, he can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I look forward to doing so again, as many times as you will permit.” He is glad that there will be the chance to do this again: that the return of the army to England will not mean the curtailment of their relationship. He recalls Grant’s voice, calling him Jonathan. A first for them. It gives him hope that this last evening as the army’s magician is not an ending at all, but a new beginning.


End file.
